The Crimson Thread by Suzanne Weyn Page A

all good tale tellers sometimes lost the line between truth and fiction. To him, anything might be true; it was only a matter of which version of the story he was telling. She almost had to laugh when she thought of how he objected to her flights of fancy, when she’d probably inherited her imaginative ways from him.
                “Of course, she made this garment some years ago, when she was only a child,” he went on. “But the workmanship has held up very well, weathered the storm beautifully. Come examine it for yourself.”
                The woman came out from behind the desk, revealing herself to be exceptionally tall. She examined Paddy’s sleeves and collar. “It is indeed well done,” she concluded.
                “This girl is a wonder,” Paddy went on. “Not only can she sew a perfect seam, but she can spin thread, tat lace, embroider, and weave. If you take her on, you will thank me for the rest of your days.”
                “Is that so?” the woman asked skeptically.
                “Mark my words,” Paddy assured her, deliberately missing the disbelief in her tone.
                “I would work very hard and do whatever you want,” said Bridget sincerely, hoping to bring some small sense of truth and reality into the proceedings.
                “Have you any reference?” the woman asked.
                “We are newly arrived and this would be her first employment in America, and, as I mentioned, the many testimonies she brought from home were all lost at sea,” Paddy said.
                A tight, pinched smile formed on the woman’s lined lips. “I see.” She turned her attention to Bridget. “You will start as my assistant. I hope that is not too menial a position for one as gifted as yourself.”
                “No, ma’am, not at all,” Bridget answered.
                The woman nodded. “You may call me Margaret. I will call you Bertie. We will begin tomorrow morning at seven sharp and work until six in the evening. We will be making the clothing for Mr. Wellington’s eldest son and his three daughters, who are fashionable young women.”
                “Yes, ma’am.”
                “Mr. Wellington’s fortune has been made in the textile industry,” Margaret continued. “Fabrics and clothing are of the utmost importance in this household. Your work must be beyond reproach. You are being taken on in a conditional capacity, subject to dismissal if your work does not meet my expectations. Is that clear?”
                Bridget swallowed hard and immediately hoped the sharp-eyed Margaret hadn’t noticed. She’d thought her clothes-making skills were sufficient until Mrs. Howard had ripped her vest apart. Now she was no longer as confident.
                “Oh, you’ll be more than happy with her work,” Paddy interjected.
                “I’m speaking to your daughter now, Mr. Miller,” said Margaret. She returned her attention to Bridget. “Any number of girls here applied for this position. It is an excellent opportunity. You are being offered it based on your father’s recommendation. Mr. Wellington believes in employing members of the same family. I suggest you do your utmost to make the most of this.”
                “Yes, ma’am.”
                “Will you be requiring a room?”
                “Yes, she will!” Paddy answered for her.
                “No, ma’am,” Bridget disagreed. “We have little ones at home who require tending at night.”
                “Still, it would be good for her to have quarters in case she’s ever required to stay late and work on important garments,” Paddy insisted. “Work will always come first.”
                Margaret glanced uncertainly from father to daughter. “You may use the smallest